


Queen of Spades

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: F/M, messed up relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: Trying to kill her – well, she’s not very forgiving, but at least that’s something she can understand. But stealing her past – a part of herself, maybe not the most vital, because apparently she can go on without it – that’s something she can’t forgive or forget. That’s something that must be punished. But death would be too easy, just a way out of responsibility, not a lesson learned, wouldn’t it?It’s only fitting that for a lost piece of herself, she should take away a part of him.





	Queen of Spades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [failsafe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/failsafe/gifts).



> Many thanks to Star_Miya for beta!

She closes her eyes, feigning sleep. He falls for it. Of course he does. If she didn’t want to alarm him, she would laugh out loud. Ah, Benny, you poor boy, she thinks, you’ve forgone all caution, you’ve left the past too far behind, haven’t you? The tribes may differ, but they never let their guard down and never trust their luck.

The Courier smiles, softly, as if dreaming of something pleasant. She recalls the secrets of Lucky 38 and the shadow of a man that had existed for too long, stretched thin far beyond his years. He must have outlived his time. But good stories should have ghosts in it. So let Vegas have its story… but now she’s the one who writes it.

She lets Benny slip out of the bed and out of the room. Let him run. She’ll find him, sooner than later. And if death finds him first, well, so be it. All is fair in love and war, and since this fucked up thing between them is both, and more, all is permitted. Besides, she knows death well. It’s no dishonor to lose to a good friend.

When she is sure enough time has passed and he must have left the casino already, she laughs. Run, run, pretty boy. Ah, this is going to be fun.

She smiles to herself. It’s not a pleasant smile, but the accompanying thoughts please her immensely. There’s a drop of bitterness in all that satisfaction, a mark of finality. The outcome was clear before the game has even begun. But it’s not that important how it ends. It’s the thrill of playing that’s the best part.

Poor Benny, she thinks, so smart while still so stupid. The game was rigged from the start? Maybe. But she got lucky; she’s used all the luck and there will be nothing left for him. Ah, Benny, poor baby, how could such a dedicated player forget the basic rule? The House always wins. And now she is the House.

* * *

 

Fighting the Legion was never her plan. Nor was being Caesar’s errand girl. But one thing she can do really well is pretend. So she listens like she’s interested, gives noncommittal answers that can be read either way. And she gets her reward for that – neatly wrapped in his usual checkered suit. Do the Legion creeps organize some ‘my prisoner’s more fashionable than yours’ contests? Not that they could be more ridiculous or pretentious, anyway.

She wants to grin, say something like ‘Long time no see, Benny’ and let her smile mock him like he’s never been mocked before. Or maybe he has. Maybe that’s why he tried to get to the top, who knows. That’s what she did, after all.

But it’s too early to get the Legion angry. They’ll see soon enough, but she’ll have a head start, and once she’s safely bunkered up in Vegas, let them come. Or maybe she’ll just give Boomers a tip-off that there’s a nice big target conveniently sitting on a hilltop not far from their base. In the vertibird’s range, for sure.

So she just makes a solemn face and turns to Caesar for a moment.

“There are thing this man needs to hear from me, before he dies,” she announces, loudly enough for Benny to hear.

Sallow says nothing and just nods in a way he thinks is stately, but looks just pompous. Stupid creep probably thinks it’s all a matter of honor.

Maybe it’s her honor that got killed that evening at Goodsprings? Who knows. But that’d explain why she decided sleeping with Benny was a good idea. Was worth it, though, even if he couldn’t shut up, and all that chatter gave her a headache.

She approaches the prisoner slowly. Not walks towards him, no, approaches, because that’s what’s expected of her now. That she’d be the judge. She’d rather be the Joker. Same letter, little difference.

“Missed me?” she asks quietly.

Benny looks at her, the usual cocky half-smile on his face. He can pretend all he wants; she knows he’s afraid. Or maybe he’s sure she won’t kill him, maybe he thinks he was so good she’ll let him live.

She will, but for a completely different reason. Though maybe for that, too. At least he knows what water and soap are for, and she’s seen enough men to appreciate that. Gonna be realistic while setting your standards, less disappointment that way.

She weights his pistol in her hand. As far as guns go, this one is pretty. Nice floral details – probably pre-war, because she doesn’t recognize any of them. And the picture, different from the casino posters, simple tribal paintings and Vegas graffiti, different from anything she’s seen. The light behind the woman looks like a nuke gone off; oddly fitting. For a moment, she wonders, and there’s a dim, half-formed thought at the back of her mind, but then it’s all gone in a flash and the faint echo of a bullet that missed her life by millimeters.

The Courier shakes her head. For fuck’s sake, she did not come here to stare at the bastard’s gun; she came for revenge. Back in Goodsprings, she’d contemplated shooting him; the fastest way to get rid of any annoyance. But not always permanent, she knows from experience.

Actually, over time, she’s grown more frustrated not about the hole in her head, but about her past. Trying to kill her – well, she’s not very forgiving, but at least that’s something she can understand. That’s the first lesson the outside world – where did that phrase even come from? – first lesson the Mojave teaches is kill or be killed. The first and foremost law of the Wastelands.

But stealing her past – a part of herself, maybe not the most vital, because apparently she can go on without it – that’s something she can’t forgive or forget. That’s something that must be punished. But death would be too easy, just a way out of responsibility, not a lesson learned, wouldn’t it?

It’s only fitting that for a lost piece of herself, she should take away a part of him.

“Don’t like that silence, pussycat,” Benny says, flashing her a smile. Always the showman.

“Oh, I know you’d rather listen to your own voice, like… last time,” she purrs into his ear. “Really, never heard so much bullshit in one go. I’m still surprised I didn’t just ran out of bed, but I don’t like unfinished business. Call me a professional.”

“Whatever you want, sugar. Perhaps after you untie me?”

When she laughs, it sounds so clear and carefree she’s probably even more surprised than he is.

“All in good time. That’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” She bites on his ear softly, lets him believe this is a different kind of game altogether. Or maybe it isn’t. How should she know? She got shot in the head, she has every right to mix things up.

Slowly, making sure he hears the sound, she releases the safety catch of his gun. It fits well into her hand… She might keep it. Later.

She drags the gun across his chest, up his neck and cheek, gently, as if it was a caress. And then puts the barrel to his temple.

“One bullet, Benny,” she whispers. It sounds as if she was trying to seduce him. Maybe she will. Later. “You get one bullet.” Withdrawing her hand, she gives him a quick peck on the cheek. “Find me in Vegas if you make it, dearie.”

She leans in and puts the gun into his belt, where it would be hidden by the jacket. Unties his hands, leaving the rope hanging loose. Then, she gets up.

“Keep an eye on him for me a while longer, would you?” she asks, turning to Caesar. “And I’ll go see about that medic.”

And with that, she walks away.

If he lives, maybe she’ll sleep with him again – after he’s bathed a few times. Queen takes jack and all that. She makes a mental side note to get someone to paint her portrait on a card. Maybe she’ll give it to Benny at some point. What a nice reminder it would be.

And if he doesn’t make it – oh well, a shame, but that’s how it is. Take what you can before the Mojave takes it from you. Maybe she’ll even drink a bottle of champagne, in fond memory and all that.

* * *

 

He makes it back to Vegas, of course. Smart boy. Maybe he hasn’t forgotten everything. Maybe he only has bad memory when it comes to betrayals. No matter. She’ll remind him. She’ll keep reminding him all night long.

Because why not? He has washed and smells of soap, which becomes a major thing after a few months out in the Wastelands, and it’s been some time since she’s had fun. And the bed in Lucky 38’s presidential suite is really something. Looks even better with her portrait hanging on the wall right over it. No wonder Benny is impressed.

He opens his mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Behold, miracles. He just keeps staring at the picture. At the low neckline of her painted dress, at her smile, at the little suit symbols floating over her head like a cloud or a crown. And at the shape of the small pendant hanging between her breasts, where he would surely notice it. A silver spade, one that has nothing to do with cards and all to do with digging graves.

“Okay, I take back what I told you last time, pussycat,” he says finally, sounding as nonchalant as always. She kind of admires him for it. “Before? That was nothing. But this… This is real sick.”

She leans in, grabbing a handful of his hair. “Afraid of a little fever, baby?” She kisses him, deep and sensuous, and in a moment he’s trying to wrap his arms around her, because of course he can’t stop himself. She’s platinum, after all. She’s the fucking platinum chip.

It’s easy to slip away. She turns, and in a moment she’s behind him, pressed tightly against his naked back, one hand in his hair. She looks at their reflection in the dirty window glass.

Slowly, she smiles. A small, measured smile that wouldn’t look out of place on one of those ladies from all the pre-apocalypse movie posters. She knows. She’s practiced it for hours, until it started feeling natural. A smile like the one she was painted with.

“Benny, dearie.” Her fingers rake through his hair as she pulls his head back, so gently it’s almost a caress. She laughs – a quiet, pleasant sound, silver bells, shiny new cartridges falling into the clip. That’s when she finally notices that gleam in his eyes, something more than lust, something like a spark of light on a barrel of a loaded gun. Fear. Unnecessary. She won’t hurt him. She just wants to play. “You should have thought about it all before you fucked with my head.”


End file.
